White Wedding
by Startled Boris
Summary: Weddings are wonderful events. Usually. A chance for two people to declare their love. But things are never simple when you're a Nation. Can Bridezilla Belarus marry the right man? Will Arthur get to the church on time? Will anyone ever be the same? Sequel to Baltic Secrets and Revelations. Warnings: swearing, silliness, cartoon violence.
1. Prologue

Story: White Wedding

Genre: Comedy/Adventure/Stupidity

Characters: England, Russia, America, France, Austria, Hungary, femLatvia, Belarus, Russi-cat and lots of others

Synopsis: Follow-up to Baltics Secrets and Revelations - although you don't need to have read those stories but it might help if you have.

Weddings are wonderful events.. Usually. A chance for two people to declare their love. But things are never simple when you're a Nation. Can Bridezilla Belarus marry the right man? Will Arthur get to the church on time? Will anyone ever be the same again? Warnings: cartoon violence, swearing, silliness

Prologue

England woke up to darkness. He groaned.

There was a lump on the back of his head the size of Jupiter, a bag of some sort over his head and his hands were tied behind his back. He also seemed to be tied to a bag of potatoes. He groaned again.

Where was he? He shuffled and rolled and then froze as there was a groan next to him. He was not alone wherever he was.

And then the floor under him moved.

He realised he was in a moving vehicle of sorts.

He rolled and the bag over his head came off. Emblazoned on it were the words "Royal Mail". This did not reassure him. He blinked in the half light and realised he was in the back of a moving van. He struggled to his knees and the bag of potatoes moved with him. He realised then that he was wearing a suit at least three sizes too big.

England crawled to the connecting window of the driver's cab and peered through. What he saw made him fall back in horror.

The back of a large beige-blond head faced him and violet eyes glared back at him in the van's rear view mirror.

A gruff Russian voice growled, "Lie down, England."

A Scottish voice called through, "Arthur, yer big Jessie, yer'd better do as yer told or yer a goner!"

A cat miaowed - almost in agreement and the hatch on the window closed - cutting England off.

He flung himself down in despair, horror and hopelessness. His own brother and Russia? Where was he going? A Siberian gulag? A Russian saltmine? Or worse still - a Glaswegian jail? He'd known his brother had always wanted to take over from him as the personification of the United Kingdom, but this? And Russia? Perhaps the Russian had snapped in a jealous rage? Could his situation get any worse?

Yes. It could.

There was an indignant yell next to him.

The 'sack of potatoes' tied to him sat up, "Stupid English! Someone will pay for this! I'm sure I have whiplash. My lawyer will be contacting you!" Austria's livid red face peered at him.

England tried to clear his head, this just had to be a bad dream. "Why are you wearing a pink bunny costume?" he said slowly.

To England's dismay it was the wrong half. He averted his eyes from Austria's skinny white hairy legs.

"You don't remember?" Austria asked, frowning.

England noticed that the Austrian had to peer at him as his glasses were broken. "If I did, would I bloody well have to ask? And who the bloody hell hit me on the back of the head?" Arthur answered.

Austria shook his head slowly. "It is best you don't remember. But as a friend and ally…"

England winced.

"…I believe you should know the full story…" Austria said.

**Author's Notes:**

This is by popular demand (well… about two people have asked for this). I'm going to try to make this a fairly short story - compared to my others. I appreciate all reviews and PMs - any suggestions are welcome! Ideas for future plots/scenarios are welcome.


	2. Chapter 1

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Einsam-Schatten and of course all my other readers.**

Chapter 1

The quaint English village of Bedlam Bottom was to be the venue for England and Belarus' wedding. Many of the Nations or at least those who were less socially competent had laughed at the name. Arthur ignored them. He and Belarus had wanted a quintessential English village wedding and thus he had chosen probably the most boring place on earth in which to hold it.

Arthur had also insisted that his stag 'do' should take place in the quietest, dreariest place in Britain - Little Snoring - a tiny seaside hamlet on the south coast just a half an hour from the wedding venue. What could possibly happen in such a tiny place? This was a question that would haunt Arthur in time...

The tiny local village church of St Judes was to be the venue for the actual blessing. The vicar of this church was a nervous man with an unfortunate name - Reverend Flunk - and if he did not have a nervous disposition before, he certainly did after just two meetings with the prospective bride, groom and their best man/groomsman and bridesmaids.

Belarus had told Rev Flunk to 'carry on with the wedding no matter what happened'. France had smiled seductively at him and mispronounced his name into something filthy. America had asked the poor man if 'he wore anything under that dress'. Latvia, Hungary and Ukraine had stomped up and down in army boots looking very un-bridesmaid-like and in the vicar's unprofessional view - looked very very pregnant. One had thrown up, the others all seemed to be eating something disgustingly similar to custard and chips.

The most alarming person had been the big Russian who had loomed over the groom-to-be, nodding excitedly at the practising of the vows. However, the vicar had been somewhat horrified when the holy water in the christening font had began bubbling over when Russia had first entered the building.

The Nations had taken over - and taken over had been the right words, Prussia had called it an 'invasion' - the only local hotel, the hilariously named 'Cock and Gun. Switzerland had liked the latter part of the name, while France had gone into paroxysms of delight at the former part of the name. Until the next morning… when the 'cock' of the title, the local cockerel, had woken them all at 4.30 am. Or, as England had called it 'half past bastard 4'.

There had been some rebellion over the bridesmaid dresses. "I'm not wearing that!" Latvia had declared at the sight of the monstrously frilly dress she was presented with and had stomped out of the room, her army boots leaving mud on the carpet. For a start, the colour was suspect. She thought it was supposed to be green. But as Ukraine pointed out, it was a green that was 'unnatural'.

"I think you have lost all sense of style and fashion since you got pregnant, sestra," Ukraine had told her sister.

It was a green that was more puce than green. Poland had winced at the colour. But for some unknown reason each bridesmaid wore different colours.

Ukraine was to wear 'peach' - which was a strange fluorescent orange colour. Poland had declared that it was 'so bright, the Stans back in the USSR could hear it'. Hungary was to wear yellow - which she claimed was 'the colour of piss' and Lily was to wear blue. Poland said it was 'no blue he had ever seen in his 1000 years of existence'. Poor Belgium's dress was pink. For some reason known only to the dressmaker who must have been mentally unstable, each dress had a sash with blood-red roses which was draped across the breast. When worn with the dresses they gave the appearance of a massacre.

"You all look gorgeous!" Belarus had declared, clapping her hands with glee.

They didn't. As Poland said, watching, in between laughing, they looked like a nightmare in a dress factory. Or the survivors of some awful fashion massacre.

Latvia had refused to wear her dress and had held it up with distaste against her. Ukraine bravely wore hers to please her sister. But the dressmaker had misread the measurements and Katya's enormous bosom strained against the cheap fabric. (Ukraine would not have used such fabric for her curtains, she decided, but was too polite to say.)

Hungary insisted on wearing hers with a crossbow slung across her shoulder. Lily was too polite to say anything, and as her brother had said, it was free and they didn't have to pay for anything. Belgium accessorised hers with her country's flag.

Poland had initially asked for a dress (he assumed he was a bridesmaid although not officially asked by the bride) but was now glad he hadn't been given one.

"You'll look wonderful for the wedding!" Belarus said with glee. "Now take them off, don't rip them… or I will be very very very very angry…" she warned as they all sighed. "And now we'll sort out the hen night… It's going to be wonderful!"

Nobody agreed. However, having seen Belarus' dress they all agreed they were not going to look any less ridiculous than her. It was, as Poland had pointed out, the largest dress in Christendom.

Ukraine had asked if she was hiding the Red Army under it. She'd struggled to get through the bedroom door. And as she'd coyly said that she didn't want Arthur to see it before the wedding, they'd all agreed that it was best he didn't see it at all.

The bride's dress was massive. If it wasn't for the fact that the fabric was so startlingly white (Ukraine suspected her sister was making some statement) the blood-red roses in her bouquet would not have stood out so much. It had taken three of them to carry it in and the dressmaker of this monstrosity - a Madame de Pompous - a woman on the edge of reason - had declared it was the pinnacle of her career. Certainly it was the end of her career. Poland doubted that the woman would ever dressmake again, and certainly not for anyone of sound mind.

Belarus announced that her sister had arranged the entertainment - strippers. "Male ones!" she had said, as if this was the deal-breaker. Hungary raised an eyebrow. Whoever these strippers were, she thought, they would have to be very brave. Or very stupid. Or willing to do anything for money.

As it turned out, they were all three.

Downstairs in the lobby, the groom (who had overdosed on tea) and his party were getting ready to 'paint the town red' or, in Arthur's words 'have a nice quiet beer and possibly a bag of crisps'.

Arthur was unaware of his bride's consternation over the dresses, nor was he aware of the mounting rebellion. He was also unaware of the utterly incongruous male strippers now making their way to the bride's bedroom (or HQ as Belarus now termed it).

He was strangely calm, and his outward jittery countenance was only due to the ten cups of tea he'd drunk in the last two hours as he'd felt obliged to, as Russia kept refilling his cup whilst he tried on his wedding suit. (England that is, not Russia.) Russia saw it as his duty to ensure that Arthur was fit, well and completely able to wed his sister the next day. Russia would have gone through hell and back to make sure this wedding would come off. And hell was a place he had a lot of experience with, so much so, he had frequent flyer miles.

Arthur told him that he'd been married before - just once - to 'Queen Bess' but as she had been Queen, everything had been taken care of. Telling Russia any of this did not mean anything. Russia did not care. Nothing, Russia decided, not even the Golden Horde, was going to stop England marrying his sister tomorrow. Russia decided it was going to take some catastrophe on a global scale to stop this imbecile marrying Belarus and thus freeing Russia from the shackles of his sister's weird love forever.

But catastrophes can take strange forms…

England had chosen America as his best man. 'Best' had been a term that caught in England's throat as he'd said it. 'Best' was not a term that he'd chosen to describe America, or any of his fellow male Nations at all. At a push he would have chosen Hungary as the 'best man' but as she was a bridesmaid, this was impossible.

Russia had held up a hand in hope when Arthur had tried to choose, but Arthur had sensibly overlooked this and told Russia he couldn't be best man as he was 'giving away' the bride. Somebody had sniggered and said that she had to be given away as nobody would pay.

There had been many arguments over Arthur's choice. France had insisted it should be him as he felt he had the longest joint history with England. Although England had pointed out, with much swearing that this joint history had involved centuries of fighting and invasions.

"I should be best man, mon ami! I have known you for centuries!" France repeated for the hundredth time as he boarded the coach which was to take them to their stag night destination.

England ignored him.

"We brought up leetle Alfred together…" France said, sitting down next to England.

England stood up and switched seats.

America frowned at this, he didn't like being reminded of being 'leetle' or 'wee laddie' as he heard Scotland call him. He still felt mentally scarred after being brought up by 'those two European weirdos' and still wasn't exactly sure what 'crisps' were.

"I should be best man!" came a German voice.

"Fuck off, Gilbert," England yelled back (for it was he).

"I'm the best fucking man around," Gilbert yelled and then belched.

All of these arguments took place on 'Trippers Tours' coach. The vehicle to take them to 'Little Snoring' was decrepit to say the least. As was the driver, an erstwhile upstanding man of the community by the name of 'Ron', who wore a beer belly with pride and glared at them as they boarded the coach.

"Why did you hire this heap of crap, Artie? Why didn't you hire that limo I was talking about?" America yelled.

England winced at his ex-colony's lack of indoor voice. "Because I don't want to stick out like a sore thumb," he growled. He turned to the driver, "Drop us off at the quietest pub in Little Snoring and pick us up at 11 pm on the dot, no later."

The coach driver grunted and scratched his belly through his stained vest.

"Fuckin' ell man, this is going to be most boring stag do ever since Old Sven The Quiet of Norway had that tea party in 1157 and we all fell asleep," Prussia yelled.

"Good," England said.

Russia agreed and sat at the back, got out his knitting and chatted happily to himself (or so it appeared).

On the seat in front of Russia was Canada and his polar bear cub. Mr Kumajiro was the only reason the Nations had realised Canada was there. The bear cub kept looking behind him and growling at Russia's knitting bag. Canada fed him fish to keep him in his seat. England wondered, not for the first time, how Matthew had got the bear through animal customs.

Francis flicked his hair back and attempted to switch seats again to sit with Arthur, "I zink we should go to the Big Bottom Dancing Club," he said.

"Dear Lord," Arthur muttered.

Russia dropped a stitch. "Wut?"

"Please leave all questions until the end!" America yelled.

The American was dressed in full Army General uniform (Arthur seriously wondered which Army General was trying to find his uniform - he doubted very much it belonged to Alfred) and seemed to be taking the role of 'best man' very seriously. "I have a full itinerary for this mission, men!" he yelled.

Arthur winced again. "We are going to have a nice quiet evening out. No fights, no strippers…" England said.

"… and no fucking fun either by the looks of it, kesese!" Prussia said and then added as two other bodies boarded the bus, "Hold the phone… this could get interesting."

Gilbert's eyes lit up, America grinned and England sighed. One of the figures was Denmark in a viking helmet clutching his own crate of beer. The other was anonymous - in a pink bunny costume.

"One man party pack coming through!" Denmark yelled.

Arthur stopped Denmark on the steps, "Not you…" he said, trying to shove the Dane back.

"Sweden and Finland said I could come!" Denmark yelled.

"Well you're not coming. Not after your disgraceful performance in that IKEA," England said.

"No way, man!" Gilbert shoved his way to the front of the bus, passing a completely indifferent Spain who was humming along to his ipod and waving cheerily at everyone. "Den's my mate and if he ain't going then neither am I."

"Okay, bye then!" England said.

"Awww, I'll be good. There aren't any IKEAs where we're going are there?" Denmark said, his grin disappearing.

England was distracted by the pink bunny stood behind the Dane.

"Hold on there! Who on earth are you?" Arthur said.

"Matthias! The personification of the great Nation of Denmark! The King of Northern Europe. The only man to drink 20 pints of Carlsberg and…" Den said, outraged.

"Not you…" England said, shoving him aside and poking the 'bunny'. "You!"

"No rabbits on my bus," said the bus driver, pointing at a sign that read 'no livestock allowed', "Not after last time."

The 'rabbit' took off his head, "Outrageous!" Austria said (for it was he).

"Why? Just why?" England said.

"Well may you ask!" Austria replied.

"He's one of us!" America told the bus driver.

"He's one of them…" Prussia added with a leery wink and a lewd grin.

"I don't care, he's not coming on my bus," 'Ron' said.

America tried to be smooth and dug into his pockets for a bribe. He unearthed a tiny power ranger doll with an arm missing, a packet of gum (opened) and a single dollar bill. He had no idea how much a dollar was worth in the UK but took a chance and gave it to the driver. The driver promptly gave it back.

"That utter idiot and bane of my life Vash Zwingli told me it was a fancy dress party and it was either this or a German Luftwaffe uniform in the shop," Austria said, his face very red.

"Aw man, it would have been hilarious if you'd…" Prussia began.

"…Got my head ripped off by Russia?" Austria finished for him. "Yes, I'm sure that would have been most amusing."

"So you decided to come as a gay bunny?" England said and then promptly fell into his seat as the coach driver shut the automatic door and the coach pulled away jerkily.

"I hate Vash…" Austria moaned and plonked himself next to England.

"I'll need an extra £100 to take animals on this bus," the bus driver said as they pulled away from the 'Cock and Gun'.

Canada shoved Mr Kumajiro down in his seat. Russia shuffled and said something to his knitting bag.

"He's not an animal, he's an Austrian.. An idiot of course…" England protested.

"I'm an aristocrat of good repute!" Austria said indignantly.

England sighed and looked at America, "Well?"

"Yes I am!" America said and jumped up, took hold of the microphone and was about to launch into a sing-song, when the coach screeched to a halt.

The door opened and a very grumpy, red-haired man in a skirt leapt on the bus, shoving Austria out of the way. It was Scotland. And if England thought it couldn't get any worse, Scotland had brought his bagpipes.

"Ach yer wee jessie! Yer nearly left withoot me! I shoulda been yer best man! I'm yer broother!" Scotland shouted at England.

"You've told me all this before," England sighed.

"Humph," Scotland grunted and slumped in a seat with his bagpipes. Everyone moved at least three seats away from him. "Get a bloody move on, man or they'll have run oot of beer!" Scotland yelled at the coach driver.

The coach did get a move on. With America singing down the microphone and occasionally telling some joke that nobody understood the punchline. England doubted the 'boy' (England still thought of his ex-colony as 'the boy') needed a microphone.

Russia wished, not for the first or last time, that he'd brought one of his Baltics. But Lithuania had told him he had a 'migraine' and Estonia had 'business'.

Over at the hotel, Lithuania did indeed have a migraine. Which was getting steadily worse. And no wonder as his room was just two doors away from Belarus' and the raucous laughter, shouting and music made his ears ring. He stuck his head under a pillow to try to shut out the noise. He was wise.

In Belarus' room, the strippers had arrived. A rag-tag bunch if ever there was one. The two Italies, Estonia and Greece fell into the room. Instantly there was shouts of indignation.

"Is this a joke?" Hungary snarled. "Where are the proper strippers?"

Latvia started laughing and threw popcorn at the two Italy brothers, who hugged each other.

"Try not to cry," Romano said to his brother, trembling.

Belarus glared at Eduard, "He was supposed to sort this out. Eduard, I gave you money…" she said in a low growl.

Estonia had indeed been given money to get strippers, but had decided to pocket the money instead and 'sub-contract'. In fact, Estonia had 'sub-contracted' quite a few services for this wedding, but more on that later.

"I didn't get any money!" Romano said, shooting a look at Estonia.

Estonia shrugged. "Take it or leave it, Miss Belarus," he said.

"Get stripping then!" Ukraine said, leaned back and popped another olive in her mouth.

"I don't want to see my own brother naked! It's weird!" Latvia said.

Estonia smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of revealing any part of his anatomy to this pack of wolves that masqueraded as female Nations. He wore at least ten layers of underwear, along with four shirts, two jumpers, and a large overcoat. By the time he'd got down to the last layer, they'd all be asleep or bored, or both.

Besides, he was counting on Greece to do the stripping.

Greece had already forgotten he was there to strip, and was sat on Belgium's knee, having his hair ruffled.

Eduard shoved the two Italies forward, switched on the music on a very old tape recorder and told them to 'get on with it'.

It was dire, or 'utterly crap' as Latvia called it. She doubted strippers should hide behind each other. Or that it would take so long to take shoes off.

"Did you hire the wimpiest blokes you could find?" Belgium said, and tried to ease Greece off her knee. He was asleep.

Romano was appalled, "Hey! I am Italian! We are the world's best lovers!"

"Do we have to take off our shirts?" Feliciano moaned, "I don't think I have a vest on underneath… shall I go get some pasta and pizza? I made some earlier for Luddy in the kitchens, the staff here said I could when I went down to ask and then I made a huge pot of bolognese sauce and it was the best sauce they had ever had!" He said all this at 100 miles per hour.

"Stop talking and just bloody strip!" Belarus told him.

"I'm going to tell Luddy about you," Feliciano said.

Latvia laughed and threw a peanut at him.

Ludwig Beilschmidt was actually on the coach with the other male Nations. He wished he was actually with Feliciano eating pizza. But if he'd known what was actually happening, he would have changed his mind. He had been silent during the arguments between Austria, England, Prussia and the others. Largely because he was doing his paperwork. He noted that no other Nation ever seemed to have paperwork. He asked Russia this but Russia had pointed a knitting needle at him and shook his head.

Spain had just grinned happily at the question and then began singing some Spanish rubbish. Germany sighed. He hadn't wanted to come on this 'do'. He didn't like 'fun'. He'd had 'fun' once before with Italy and Japan. It was over-rated in his view.

He actually wanted to tell Canada off for bringing the polar bear with him, but as the polar bear was being particularly grouchy tonight (Mr Kumajiro kept growling at Russia's knitting bag and Russia's affection for the bear stopped him from ripping his head off) he decided not to.

He ignored his brother who was teasing him for 'doing his homework on the bus'. As if he were a little kid. He also ignored Denmark's belching at him from the seat in front as the big Dane leaned over the back of the seat and grinned moronically at him. There was no justice, he thought. Why were these morons Nations? They never did anything but fight, get arrested and generally cause havoc.

The coach had only been travelling for half an hour, yet the driver had to stop. Mainly because Denmark claimed he needed the toilet, America needed snacks and France said he needed some 'provisions' from a pharmacy and then winked lewdly at England.

They stopped at a motorway service station. America, already two hours behind his eating schedule, ran into the MacDonalds and ordered a Big Mac, large fries, a strawberry milkshake and a bag of donuts 'to be getting on with'.

Russia wandered off after Arthur (he'd taken it upon himself to shadow the Englishman at every turn and make sure he got to the church on time) and carried his knitting bag with him. He had to pause though when he heard a squeaky little voice.

"Mr Russia! Wait for me!"

It was Mr Kumajiro, who turned back to his hapless owner and said, "I'm the personification of the Arctic Ocean and I'm going places, I don't need you anymore, you've always held me back!"

Canada hurried to catch up and remonstrate with the bear.

Denmark and Prussia had found a children's 'Postman Pat' ride and were haranguing Austria for some coins to put in it.

"Give us some of your money! You need to spend it!" Prussia yelled, sitting atop the ride, Denmark inside, his Viking Helmet askew.

"I don't have any money! Go away you uncouth louts!" the pink bunny yelled back at them.

"Bruder!" Prussia yelled at Germany, "Hey West! Do you have any spare change?"

Germany ignored him and hurried into the Costa Coffee, ignoring France's bewailing of the lack of 'decent coffee' in the establishment.

Spain dreamily followed Scotland into the men's toilets, the Scotsman passing Spain his bagpipes before entering a cubicle telling the Spaniard to 'guard them as if his testicles depended on it'.

"Si!" Spain said, having no clue whatsoever what the Scotsman had just said to him.

"Hey! Give the awesome me some money!" Prussia yelled at America.

America, his mouth full of hamburger, shrugged, "Only got ma credit card," he mumbled.

"Here!" England threw some coins at the two, "And shut up, will you and stop drawing attention to yourselves!"

There was always attention drawn to the Nations. Whether this was because of the aura they projected - one of dread in Russia's case - or the fact that many of them acted like imbeciles.

It was probably the latter, England thought as he stepped into WHSmiths and perused the newspapers. He tried to ignore the Russian looming behind him. And the polar bear cub stood next to the Russian holding Ivan's hand.

Canada sat outside on the floor, his head in his hands, "My own bear cub won't talk to me…" he said to America as his brother passed by.

"Whatsat, bro?" Alfred stopped. He was always sympathetic to his brother and was genuinely often surprised when Canada was upset about being mistaken for him (America thought it was a compliment being mistaken for him - the best superpower on earth) or about him throwing balls at him too hard across their shared border. "Here dude…" America said and tossed him a bag of fries.

"What's that purring?" Arthur said, while perusing the Times newspaper. He glanced over his shoulder at Russia, who was stood uncomfortably close to him. "Are you purring?" he asked.

Russia blushed red and shuffled and then said, "Wut?"

"Wut?" England said.

"What?" Russia asked.

England put the newspaper back and frowned, trying to think of something to say when there were yells from outside.

There were several things going on. All of them quite alarming and sure to bring the police and, even worse, their respective embassies down on the Nations.

Firstly, it appeared from the yells emanating from Denmark and Prussia that the Nordic Nation was stuck in on the 'Postman Pat' ride. Evidently, his Viking frame was too large for a children's ride. But he did not have the wit to understand this.

There were other yells coming from the small Boots pharmacy - mainly French ones. It sounded as if the French Nation was protesting about the variety of condoms the pharmacy stocked.

But the most worrying yell was from the coach driver who hurried into the service station waving his arms around.

"Oh no…" England muttered. "What the bloody hell have they done now?"

But, for once, it was not the Nations' fault.

"My coach is on fire!" 'Ron' the coach driver yelled.

America dashed out with a fire extinguisher, "Stand back men! I'll deal with this!"

England just raised an eyebrow and went to the nearest phone booth. Russia stood open-mouthed watching America, armed with a fire extinguisher, attempt to put out a full-blown vehicle fire.

"Please state the nature of the emergency?" came the voice over the phone.

"It's difficult to say really…" England looked around. First at Denmark stuck in a miniscule mail van, then at France who was still yelling at the pharmacist, then at Scotland who was about to play a lament on his bagpipes and finally at America who was bravely (or moronically depending on your own point of view) aiming a lank drizzle of foam at the coach which was now ablaze.

"Fire and possibly an ambulance… perhaps the police as well… to be on the safe side…" England said as Scotland punched out a man who had insulted his bagpipe playing.

"Everything is going to be okay… don't worry," Russia said soothingly behind him. "I'm glad I saved you." (Unbeknown to England he was talking to his knitting bag.)

England was really worried now. Russia had obviously got some kind of fixation on him.

America dashed passed him, "Don't worry dude! I just need another fire thingy and I'll put this mother out!" he yelled.

The coach exploded.

**Next Chapter:**

**Misinterpretations, Viking invasions, the most boring pub in England and fish and chips.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Pedro-IS-Madi12, Percabeth is Awsome, cullinane, Go LilixIcy, Missmanda, Einsam-Schatten and of course all my other readers.**

**Chapter 2**

The song "You can leave your hat on" blasted from Belarus' room. Lithuania stuck his head deeper under his pillow and hummed to himself to try to muffle the yells, shrieks of derision and the crying (which he assumed, correctly, came from the Italies).

To be fair, he'd been asked - by both England and Russia - if he wanted to go with them on the stag night. He'd given his apologies. And Poland had asked him to join him at the Spa for a massage and facial. He'd turned that down too as he felt he would just be picked on by Russia. (Poland did not care about such things.)

He'd also been asked by Finland and Sweden if he'd wanted to join them on a shopping trip to 'Tesco'. He'd declined.

In Belarus' room, things were getting out of hand, Estonia noted. He wasn't down to his underwear yet, but the Italy brothers were and the girl Nations' derisive yells had almost caused Romano to slam out - it was only by the appearance of some money that kept him there. Feliciano had managed to stop crying - but only after being given a lot of wine to drink by Ukraine. Greece was very nearly naked and had been passed around the female Nations' laps quite happily. But he did appear to be asleep.

Thankfully, before Estonia could take off his fourth shirt, there was a knock at the door. He and Romano fell over each other to answer it.

Standing in the doorway was a large Italian man in an expensive suit.

"Signor…?"

Estonia frowned, "Can I help you?" he asked.

Romano tried to shove Estonia out of the way. But the Baltic, although not being bigger or stronger than Romano (they were actually quite evenly matched) had not spent centuries living under Russian and Danish rule and not learnt something about standing his ground. Estonia blocked Romano and shoved him into Hungary's arms.

"Si!" said the man in the doorway, "You are not Signor Vargas?"

"Who wants to know?" Estonia said, suspiciously.

"I am!" Feliciano shouted.

"No, I am!" Romano yelled, as Hungary rubbed his hair.

"You are so cute, Romano! Austria should have took you in when he had the chance back in the 16th Century," Hungary said.

"Can I interest you in some property? Time-share? Do you have insurance?" Estonia asked the man.

"I am here to ask Signor Lovino Vargas to step downstairs to see my boss, Don Amaretto," the man said.

Estonia frowned, "Oh I see… Does this Don have insurance?" Estonia said, "I can arrange it for him, I'll get my briefcase. I'm Signor Vargas' legal representative," Estonia continued, never one to miss out on a deal.

"No, he's not!" Romano muffled.

"I'm Signor Vargas!" Feliciano said and launched himself out of Belarus' and Ukraine's attempts to take off his pants. Both were laughing hysterically.

Latvia had decided to ignore them all and was watching a shopping channel and making use of Russia's credit card by buying a brand new vacuum cleaner and a microwave oven. Lily was reading a pregnancy magazine and Belgium was eating chips.

The man looked him up and down and said, "Follow me, Signor."

"Yay! I'm finally important!" Feliciano declared and began pulling the rest of his clothes on. Ukraine grumpily threw him his shoes.

Estonia hurried after the half-dressed Italian, yelling over his shoulder at Ukraine, "Bye then, dear. I'm just going to sort out some business…"

"Dear?" Belgium said suddenly, looking up.

"He calls everyone that," Ukraine said quickly.

"Gay," Hungary said knowingly, and bent down to whisper in Romano's ear, "You're so bloody cute."

Ukraine nodded and rubbed her swollen belly, "Yes, he's very gay…"

Latvia just smiled and rang up to order a food blender. She hoped Russia didn't use at as a weapon and that Lithuania would find it useful in the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Over at an obscure service station somewhere in the South of England…<p>

The Nations were trying to explain, badly, to the Police, how their coach had come to explode and why one of their number was stuck inside a Postman Pat van, and if that was not enough, why Scotland had beaten up a man and France was accused of 'sexual perversion'.

It was not going well.

"I had this covered, man!" America told the Fire Brigade.

"It was like this, chaps… We turned our backs for two minutes and those two morons - the Dane and that idiot Prussian erm I mean German got into that Postman Pat ride…" England was explaining to a Police Inspector while Denmark was being cut out of the ride.

Here Prussia yelled "I am the most awesome Prussia, I am not German!".

"I mean of course you policemen do a fine job… I really would arrest that Frenchie - he is disgusting," England continued as France remonstrated loudly to two policemen and then made things worse by flirting with them. (France that is, not England.)

"I can hire that limo I was telling you about, Artie!" America yelled at England and hurried off to use the telephone.

"I'm sorry Inspector, for that interruption. No, there was nobody on board and nothing of any value…" England continued.

"My paperwork! I'd just finished all my paperwork!" Germany said, utterly appalled.

"I'm sorry, Sir. And you are?" the Inspector said, taking notes.

"Kesese! Bruder will have to say that his homework was eaten by Russia!" Prussia laughed.

"I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt…" Germany said, straightening his tie.

Scotland went past them in handcuffs and was shoved into the back of a police car, "I'm innocent!" he yelled. "Arthur! Tell him I'm innocent…" He tried to fight his way out of the police car, his bagpipes making a wailing noise as he did so.

"The limo is on its way!" America said, "Oh, what's up with your mad brother?"

"Ye'll never take me alive!" Scotland yelled, punching out a policeman and half climbing out of the car.

Help for the older British Nation arrived from an unexpected source, certainly not his younger brother that was for sure. England quite enjoyed seeing Scotland being bundled into a police car (not before time, he thought).

A flash of fur leapt out of Russia's knitting bag and there was a massive yowl. It sounded like a banshee or as Prussia called it afterwards - a cat demon.

Russi-cat, for reasons known only to himself, (Russia later thought that it was probably the sight of Scotland's bagpipes being squashed which Russia thought was an animal) decided to join in the fight.

It was actually quite simple - Scotland's furry sporran looked to the 40+ year old cat/domovoi like a fellow cat who was in distress.

"Boris!" Russia yelled in dismay, "Come back!"

"Fucking hell, man! It can't be that bloody cat?" Prussia exclaimed, his eyes wide. "He has to be at least 30 years old."

But Boris/Russi-cat did not come back. He launched himself with a yowl at the policeman holding Scotland.

"He's a domovoi!" Russia told England.

England frowned, "Is that some Russian breed?" he said.

Russia didn't answer but pulled out his faucet pipe and prepared to do battle to defend his pet.

* * *

><p>"Well Mr er Don…" Estonia began.<p>

He was stood in the lobby of the hotel, and was trying to look business-like. This was difficult as he was still wearing several layers of clothing too many and had Feliciano next to him blubbering about female Nations 'ravishing his innocent body'. Estonia put a hand over his mouth, "Shut up, Feli. I'm trying to do business here."

"We're here for the wedding," Don Amaretto said.

"Si!" said a chorus of Italian men in dark suits.

Feliciano's eyes widened and held up his hand as if he were in school.

Estonia kept his hand over the small Italian Nation's mouth and smiled at the man, "Of course you are. And I'm going to ask you for a small contribution to the wedding…" Estonia said.

Estonia turned to get out some papers out of his briefcase, briefly letting go of Italy.

"Those men are the mafia!" Italy whispered to Estonia.

Estonia patted Italy on the head, "Si… and that's why they can afford to attend Miss Belarus' wedding," he told Feliciano.

"Yay! Estonia can speak Italiano!" Italy said joyously.

"Now gentlemen," Estonia began, "Let's talk money…"

* * *

><p>Over at the service station, the groom to be was not feeling very joyous. Anything but.<p>

America was trying to cram them into the most ostentatious looking limousine (pink with gold coloured hubcaps) that he'd ever seen in his long life.

"Dear Lord!" England said and attempted to remonstrate.

"It's great isn't it?" America said and shoved him, Scotland, France (still wearing handcuffs), France's embassy representative (a rather nervous, twitchy-looking Frenchman named Pierre), Russia (who refused to be shoved and shoved America back sending him flying across the car park), Austria (still in a pink bunny costume), Germany (still bemoaning the loss of his paperwork) and Spain (who was oblivious) into the back of the limousine.

Prussia refused to leave his 'dude' friend. Denmark was still stuck in the Postman Pat van. When asked by Arthur how drunk he was, he'd replied 'Thursday' and belched.

"Step on the gas!" America told the driver. "Let's get outta this town before the fuzz catch us!"

Arthur cringed. "Those 'fuzz' as you so delightedly called them are our esteemed boys in blue, our erstwhile British Police, who got caught up in such an awful melee." Arthur said pompously.

"I have no idea what you just said," America answered.

"That was my pipe!" Russia said, looking at his pipe in wonder and then growling at Spain who was sat next to him who smiled gormlessly.

"Did something happen?" Spain asked.

"Well may you ask!" England said.

"Leave all questions until the end!" America said.

"Shouldn't somebody tell Finland and Sweden that Denmark is stuck in a Postman Pat van?" somebody said.

"Oh God… Do we have to?" England said.

"I gave them what for! I gave them a-kicking and a-stomping they'll never forget in many a year!" Scotland was telling Spain.

"With my help!" Russia interjected, "And Boris!" he added as the large Siberian cat miaowed indignantly on his lap.

"Why did you bring that bloody cat?" England asked.

"He is very old and cannot be left on his own!" Russia said. "You will be pleased I brought him later," he added strangely.

"I've never seen anything so ridiculous," said Austria. And coming from a man in a pink bunny costume this was something else.

"I am undefeated!" Scotland told Spain.

"Except by me…" England muttered.

"What didya say, little brother?" Scotland asked, waving a bottle of Scotch whisky at him.

"Nothing."

"Step on the gas, driver! Before the fuzz come after us," America told the driver.

There was muttering from the front.

"I'm assuming you hired a top chauffeur along with this… erm… charming… erm…" England looked around at the horrid leopard-skin interior and shuddered.

"Is this real fur?" Russia sounded horrified.

"Don't be such a moron! 'Cause it's not real fur! What a bunch of idiots…" came a (very brave) voice from the front.

There was a gasp. Who would be so brave and foolish to call Russia a moron.

England turned to America suspiciously, "Who did you hire? What kind of nutter is driving this car?"

America grinned, "He was cheap! He said he'd do it for free!"

Russia grasped his faucet pipe and shoved Austria and France out of the way on the seats opposite him and tried to get to the driver's seat.

The driver turned round, grinning wildly and waved. It should be noted that the car was currently doing 80 miles per hour down the fast lane of the M6. "Hahahaha! I'm in charge now!" came a rather high-pitched voice.

"Sealand!" England was aghast. He thumped America on the arm, "What the bloody hell?"

The car swerved across two lanes and, leaving many drivers honking their horns, took off again.

"He's not even old enough to drive!" England shouted.

The other Nations clung to their seats.

"Stop the car and pull over!" England yelled.

The car came to an emergency stop in the middle of the carriageway.

"Not here! Over there at that service station!" England ordered. He thumped America again.

"This is not acceptable!" Germany muttered.

"Ach this is some party! I told ya to make me your best man. Me! Your own brother," Scotland said, and swigged from his whisky offering the bottle to Russia. Russia shook his head and clutched Boris.

"Talking of brothers, where's yours, America?" Austria asked America.

"Oh yeah…"

* * *

><p>Back at the service station...<p>

"Come back, Kumajero!" Canada ran down the road after the car bearing away his bear. He stopped and sank down to his knees in the middle of the carriageway.

A police car pulled up next to him, "Sir? You're in the middle of the road, are you okay?" came a voice.

Canada looked up, "My bear has gone off with a talent scout. He's been promised a career in advertising," he said forlornly.

The policemen looked at each other knowingly, got out of the car, and carefully put Canada in the back seat. "Don't worry, Sir. We'll get you a nice cup of tea and our welfare people will sort out your medication."

"I should have listened to him and made him the personification of the Arctic Ocean! If anything happens to that bear, I'll never forgive myself…"

"Yes… we understand…" the two policemen exchanged glances and one put through a call to the on-call psychiatric team.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile at Tesco just five miles from the Cock and Gun…<p>

"Do you think that's enough? I mean it's a shame there's not more jammy ones…" Finland was talking and looking at the trolley.

"Hmmm," Sweden answered.

"Why are people looking at us strangely?" Finland whispered to Sweden. "Do you think they are homophobic?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Hmmm," Sweden answered and shook his head.

"Perhaps they don't like foreigners," Finland said.

But Finland was wrong. It was nothing to do with the fact that they were so obviously a couple, nor was it anything to do with them being foreigners. It was the simple fact that they had a trolley overflowing with nothing but packets of wagon wheels.

The simple biscuit snack had become an addiction for the two Nordic Nations and the blame could be placed fairly and squarely on England's shoulders. But that is a story for another time.

There came an announcement over the tannoy which interrupted Finland in his ruminations.

"Can a Tino…" here the announcer had the typical English problem of pronouncing foreign names "Thingymajig and …" the announcer stopped again and then added, "Berwold or something… come to customer services please? There's a phone call for them."

"How odd…" Finland said and shrugged. "Come on Berwald, bring the trolley."

The voice on the other end of the telephone was Arthur's. Finland sighed and indicated to Berwald that there was trouble by miming Denmark's mad hair.

Berwald sighed and ignored the customer service assistant's enquiring look.

"Your bloody son is here with us and he's driving a bloody car!" England told him.

Finland was almost relieved it wasn't worse. "How? He wouldn't be able to reach the pedals!" he said.

England was almost shouting down the phone. Indeed, he had to. The Nations around him were all arguing. Germany was trying to grab the phone from him to ring his embassy. Austria was telling France to 'keep his baguette to himself' whatever that meant and Russia was crowding him invading his personal space.

"Well may you ask!" England said and looked over at Sealand who was stood looking very pleased with himself. He had two blocks of wood strapped to his feet so that he could reach the pedals. "He's a disgrace. A complete hooligan. You were supposed to keep an eye on him. Not go off gallivanting in Tesco!"

"We are not gallivanting or whatever that is! We are buying provisions!" Finland said.

"Anyway we are going to send the boy home…" England said.

America groaned.

"Not you… idiot. I mean Sealand!" England hissed.

"Well okay.. It could be worse…" Finland said.

"It is worse. Your idiot brother or whatever he is, is stuck in a Postman Pat van…"

"Postman Pat van?"

"Yes, he's a cartoon character, quite popular actually over here with the kiddies…"

"Who?"

"Postman Pat!"

"No! Who is stuck in the van?"

"Denmark of course! You don't honestly think Norway or Iceland would be so stupid…"

"How did he get stuck in a van? He didn't drive it into an IKEA shop did he?"

"No! It's a small van… a Postman Pat van…"

"Why does this Postman have a van if he's a cartoon character?"

"This is stupid." England sighed.

"So it was a very small van? I don't understand." Finland said, exasperated.

England was almost screaming down the phone with frustration, "It was a children's ride!" he yelled.

"It sounds very dangerous to me. You English are very silly to let your children drive round in vans." Finland concluded.

"It doesn't go anywhere! You have to put bloody money in it to get it to do anything!"

"Well then, I don't believe you. Because it can't have gone anywhere…"

"What? Why?" England was now bashing his head against the wall.

"Matthias is not allowed any money."

Berwald nodded in agreement.

Finland was about to argue some more when England all but screamed down the phone at him, "Get back to the hotel, I'm sending the boy back with Spain," and slammed the phone down.

"Yay, I'm finally important!" Spain exclaimed and proceeded to dance around singing happily. "I'm finally important… I'm finally important… I'm finally important…"

"To the pub!" England shouted, he gave Spain some money and told him to get the next bus to Bedlam Bottom, and ushered his fellow Nations back to the limousine.

* * *

><p>The pub was a sorry affair. There was a one-armed bandit in a corner (not an actual bandit but a gambling machine - Russia had to be reassured that English pubs did not have disabled criminals in corners). There was sawdust on the floor, the dartboard was missing its '1' and there was no wine.<p>

This latter point did not bother England but France and his countryman, Pierre (the Embassy official assigned to bail Francis out of predicaments) were distraught.

"Eet eez terrible!" France wailed.

"Take it or leave it," the gruff barman said.

"But there is vodka?" Russia asked carefully.

"We're all drinking good old English beer," England said, attempting to get into the spirit of things.

"That is not alcohol," Russia stated and took a sip. "It is pop. Like lemonade," he concluded and drained the pint glass.

England was appalled, "This is finest English beer from a local brewery! What is this particular brew, my good sir?" he asked the barman.

"Sheeps Knackers," the barman said, glaring at the them all.

"I say!"

"It tastes like feet," America said.

"It is like your Western rubbishy cokey-cola," Russia said.

"Coke, dude," America corrected.

"Da. My Baltics like coke but we can't get it in Soviet Union."

"Nah, cos it's a boring place," America said, looking appalled.

France was drinking the beer in sips whilst holding his nose.

Scotland, already drunk, had poured whisky in his beer and Austria had for some reason, got his his beer in a lady's half pint glass. He complained that it wasn't as good as German beer but had his back smacked so hard by America that he fell over and due to the bunny costume had grave problems getting back up.

Germany, having moaned for the past two hours about losing his paperwork, finally seemed almost happy, and was drinking his beer but told England that this did not equal any 'recompense for the loss of his paperwork'.

"Right, chaps!" England said as they all shuffled around a large table in a corner of the pub.

"Speech!" America yelled.

"How long is this going to take?" Germany sighed, looking at his watch.

"Less time than your boring speeches about recycling, I imagine," France said and then added, "Pierre mon cher, go and ask that wonderful proprietor if he would go to the supermarket and buy some wine?"

Pierre popped another valium in his mouth, "Oui, Monsieur Le France, but I doubt an English supermarket do anyzing of any worth…"

America stood up, "Speech I hear you say? Well I have to say I never thought Artie dude here would ever get married…" here America paused and took a sip of warm beer, "… to a proper girl!"

"I say!" Arthur said.

"The speech should be by the groom to be," Austria pointed out, his arms crossed, his bunny head on the seat next to him.

"Yes, you would know. You have been married more times than all of us added together," France said.

"And I never thought old Artie would marry Belarussia!"

"Belarus," Russia corrected.

"Yup… I mean she's kinda…" America struggled to find the right words.

"…Scary?" Russia said, taking a big gulp of his beverage and then supplementing this with his emergency vodka.

"…Psychotic?" France suggested.

Pierre interrupted, "Monsieur Le France!" he shouted from across the pub. "The monsieur says that you are a…" here Pierre listened intently to the barman and then shrugged, and shouted, "… a completely wet behind ze ears girly poof git!"

"He's not wrong there," America said.

Russia nodded.

"I am ze great Le France!" France said indignantly.

"Hey, great Le France… you're fly's undone," Germany said.

"I know zis," France said with a leer.

"…Anyway, when I heard Artie dude was going to marry Belarussia…" America continued.

"Belarus," Russia corrected, again.

"Yes. At first I was like oh no and then oh my god and then wow and then this is amazing man and then I hope he loves her and then I hope she loves him and then I thought I bet she's knocked up and then I thought I bet Ivan's going to kick his arse and then I thought I gotta get tickets for that and then I thought I don't need tickets for that…" America went on and on waving his arms around, his voice (never an indoor voice anyway) getting louder.

Russia covered his and Boris cat's ears when America began to tell them about the time he'd arrived at England's house uninvited and found England dressed in a pirate's costume and Belarus in a maid costume. "Scarred for life!" he told the person next to him - who happened to be Austria.

"Oh do shut up!" Austria said.

America looked appalled.

"The condemned man should make a speech," France said.

"I do not see it as condemned, more as blessed," England replied. He stood up and smoothed out a sheet of paper.

Someone groaned.

"I am going to make this speech in Russian in honour of my bride to be," England said.

Russia frowned, "She is Belarussian," he said.

"That's what I said, man!" Alfred said. "Dude…" America was in awe. As a man who had problems conversing in his own mother tongue the foreign languages were a mystery to him.

"This should be tres amusant," France muttered, knowing full well the horror that overcame England when he attempted his oral butchery of the French language.

Germany nodded, "His idea of speaking German is shouting 'ja' and pointing a lot," he sighed.

England ignored them. "Russia if you don't mind interpreting into English for me for these ignoramuses."

And Russia did, with increasing confusion, as England read out his speech in Russian.

England was inordinately pleased with his speech. It combined the romantic poetry of Shakespeare, Shelley and Byron (he thought). He was wrong. But it wasn't wholly his fault. He had paid Estonia to translate it into Russian, who in turn had 'sub-contracted' it out for a much smaller fee. Obviously this person was a complete moron. Or someone who was a grade A troll. That was the reason for what Russia now translated word for word.

"Ladies and gentlemen! As a princess of the highest honour…"

America laughed out loud at this. France sniggered.

England glared at them and then at Russia, who glared back.

England hurried on, thinking Russia must have misheard his own Russian, "I am about to embark on the most perilous journey any man can ever endure…"

There were nods.

"To infinity and beyond… to go where no man has gone before. Please fasten your seatbelts, extinguish all naked ladies' flames and prepare for landing…"

England halted, looked at his piece of paper, and then at Russia. He drained his beer mug. Thought about telling Russia off, thought better of it and glared at France and America who were almost crying with laughter.

Scotland was nodding and drinking whisky (already so drunk he had no idea what was happening). Austria just looked bemused. Only Germany alone appeared satisfied with the speech and seemed to understand.

England ploughed on. "Ground control to Major Tom!"

"I love that song!" America yelled.

"I would ride my rainbow unicorn across the seven seas to grovel at the feet of one so minty…" England said (in Russian).

Russia frowned and stared at England in disbelief, who in turn stared back.

England, realising his beer mug was empty, took a swig from Germany's and was now well and truly sloshed.

"Don't mention the war!" England yelled, in English and burped. Bizarrely, Russia translated this into Russian.

Germany and Austria glanced at each other uneasily. France stopped grinning. This was usually one of England's verbal tics and was a sign of bad tidings.

But then England continued his speech - in Russian.

"And so my friends…" he began, slurring badly, "I love some of you better than I should, and more of you less than I do and all of you less than you do. And so this is the end. Please leave the plane quietly. Thank you for flying with Air Bollocks. The toilets are over there!" and with that singly useful piece of information (the only bit of the speech that actually made any sense), England passed out.

**Author's Note:**

**Russi-cat or Boris was first introduced in Day in the Life Chapter 'Domovoi' where he was found by Russia as a stray kitten. Whether this is indeed the same cat or whether he is indeed a 'domovoi' - a Slavic house spirit that takes on the form of an animal - is uncertain.**

**And yes, the coach exploding at the end of the last chapter I stole from 'Only Fools and Horses' - love that show.**

**More silliness and perhaps more arrests in the next chapter…**


End file.
